My Darling Bandit
by Rei Uta
Summary: A title is a heavy thing. You can't always run away from the responsibilities it brings. Prince! Jack and Bandit! Elsa.
1. Introduction of Prince Jack

Tired of reading about Princess! Elsa and Guardian! Jack? Look no further. I want them to play new roles too dammit!

**Summary:** A title is a heavy thing. You can't always run away from the responsibility it brings. Prince! Jack and Bandit! Elsa

**Disclaimer:** I wish!

**Rating:** 'T' for later chapters

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><p>For Prince Jackson Overland Frost, a typical morning consisted of waking up in his posh, four poster bed when the first hint of sunlight hit his face. Next, was washing up in his delicate porcelain basin with a towel of hundred percent fluffiness, followed by a delicious and nutritious breakfast at the Frost family's overly large dining room table. If he was lucky and woke up earlier that particular day, he might be able to eat with his parents, the esteemed King and Queen.<p>

A regular afternoon would be a day spent in his lonesome company, wandering the halls of the palace and entertaining himself with his own business. Sometimes that would consist of training, often something physical, such as with sword, fist, leg or archery. Other times, he would seal himself away and play with the forbidden.

Afterwards, he would stay inside the room long after his session was over, just so he could wait for the ice he had created to melt before he leaves. Because this special ability of his is something no one else is supposed to know about.

But he can't help using it either way, because it's too much fun not to.

On the sad days, Jack would be crying inwardly as his personal tutor forces him to study up on etiquette and other princely things that he would rather not have to learn about. Like the lay of his future kingdom, and how it related to everything else. It's not that he's not interested in being the future ruler, but he just doesn't care about geography! If they want to take over his kingdom, let them try. He can zap their asses with a cold, icy blast and win any day!

The life of Jackson Overland Frost was just sad and boring in summary, but that was all about to change.

It all happened the day he decided to follow his parents on one of their diplomatic journeys to a kingdom close by. It was a quiet, rustic kingdom named Arendelle and negotiations were supposed to last four days at most, so they figured it would be okay to let the young prince stand in charge for that brief period.

If only that worked out. Unbeknownst to them, Jack had ideas of his own.

On the same afternoon when the royal assembly had set off in their carriage, the naughty Frost royal left his parents' trusted advisor in charge, and chased after them. He went without any of his royal trappings, choosing only simple necessities and absolute basics, things that anyone would have. Unlike his parents in their fine gilded cage on wheels, Jack travelled undetected via air, and relished in his freedom and control.

Then, he wondered why his parents had forbidden him the use of these abilities in the first place. Why keep him away from something so wonderful? Why keep them hidden? This feeling of freedom, of dancing with the wind and going where he wished to. The endless blue sky as his only treasure. Flying is the best! The absolute rush of adrenaline anyone would get from free falling through the air, without care, without worry. It was bliss, and it was release. His one true escape from the prison that was his title.

Tumbling about, Jack Frost turned on his back, safely concealed from sight among the puff balls in the sky. For now, he was content with drifting alone.


	2. Arendelle

As an apology for taking so long, this one is extra long. Enjoy!

**Summary:** A title is a heavy thing. You can't always run away from the responsibility it brings. Prince! Jack and Bandit! Elsa

**Disclaimer:** I wish!

**Rating:** 'T' for later chapters

* * *

><p>When he'd finally worked up the will to do more than laze about in the bright sky, Jack lifts his hands to embrace the air, and lets the wind carry him to Arendelle. From above, he studies the layout of the land, observing the tiny houses standing together on mountain ledges and the picturesque castle built on rocks and stone, isolated from the rest. Nearby the home to Arendelle royalty were stout docks and big vessels belonging to this kingdom and others, their flags swaying proudly in the breeze.<p>

Eventually, he decides to land at the top, a distance away from the actual route into the charming kingdom. It was back enough to be safe from curious eyes, and far enough to work up a light sheen of sweat before arriving. Sweat, he deduced, made all the little things believable in a false story. (Not that anyone would believe he had flown to Arendelle.)

Once on the ground, Prince Jackson takes an inventory of himself, adjusting the baggy white shirt and matching brown cape and pants he had nicked from some forgotten place a while back. He digs his pale feet into the ground, collecting dirt on the bare soles because walking without shoes makes him feel rebellious in the simplest of ways, and that tastes like freedom as well.

He is at the point where he'd take what small pleasures he can get.

Then, Prince Jackson Overland Frost of the long, boring titles closes his eyes and opens them as simple Jack Frost.

Simple Jack Frost pulls up the coarse brown hood and pelts into new land.

-I love Jelsa-

So far, Jack has reason to dislike what he'd seen. This impression he considers as he munches on his rosy prize.

Arendelle is a pleasant place. It has sturdy little houses lining the streets in squat, pretty little rows. The gardens (if around) are full of green things that glow where sunlight hits the tiny little buds. The people are friendly, calling out to each other and talking about everyday things like how (he assumes) his own people do. There were many tiny shops to choose from, each catering to different needs and manned by villagers with eyes that had forgotten how to smile.

Today, the village is covered in spring colors of red and yellow and green and blue blue blue, because Arendelle's royal flag is a white snowflake on an endlessly blue background, so that's what they had chosen to honor their rulers.

(If Jack tries hard enough, he remembers that the current generation of royals is down to a single princess because her parents had died in a tragic accident a year ago.

But that's none of his concern now, because Plain Jack Frost is not going to be meeting the young princess, (no, Queen now, he reminds himself. The coronation had occurred a month after the funeral. He remembers the fight he had gotten into with his evil etiquette tutor over whether it was appropriate to send 'Congratulations' so soon after 'Condolences'.) anytime soon.

No, not he! That honor was one for Prince Jackson Overland Frost to (grudgingly) handle.)

The landscape Jack faces speaks of celebration. The colours hint at warmth, so why does the village feel so cold and lifeless even when the sun is a benevolent father in the sky and the wind is a gentle mother that kisses their cheeks. He wonders what makes the villagers indifferent to the faint thrum of energy in the air that makes him giddy with a joy and anticipation he only feels during winter, because it's the one season where he can freely use his abilities anywhere he likes and no one would be any wiser. He wonders why they remain uncaring when spring beckons in the air and he has to fight the urge to chase after the clouds like the child he had been seasons back. Mostly, he wonders why they seem so dead when he feels so gloriously alive in the sweet, rejuvenating air of new growth.

It's unsettling, because he is winter's most loyal lover, and if he is infected, why aren't they?

Jack tries very hard to block out the dark voice in his head telling him that this is more proof that he will never fit in. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his fists and tries so hard that he feels his whole body vibrate with the intensity of his concentration.

Typically, Jack would stay like that, enduring until the sinister little words stop crooning into his ears, while the coward inside of him begs for it to go away on tired knees, crying the useless pleas in a voice gone hoarse. He shuts everything else out, searching for the memories that would chase away the terrible sounds and warm his lonely, lonely soul. He looks earnestly, desperately, to find the images that remind him of the better times, when the only difference between being a prince and a normal boy was lessons all year around, when he didn't have to try quite so hard to be happy. Because it's not fair for one accident to change his fate so.

Typically, Jack would lock himself in his giant bedroom with its useless high ceiling and stone cold floor. He would clutch at his head, yelling soundlessly as if that would silence the hateful cries. He would curl into himself, a quarter of his usual size, sink white teeth into whiter lips and let the backlash of emotion explode into early winter and howling hail. He would imagine the faces and voices of some time blurred figures, hearing again at they screamed at him. As they condemned him for something entirely out of his control. And he would watch the ice shred their hate filled faces into snow and tears.

This time, his inner turmoil is broken by a light tap of fingers against his shaking shoulder.

He spins around, his face instinctively schooled into a brilliant smile that fails to light up his eyes, which are blue and black and full of grief. Those eyes meet ones which are a shade lighter, dance on a pretty face with fair skin and rosebud lips currently parted softly in question. His rescuer is a girl who is not much younger than him, who draws her piano fingers back when his eyes meet hers and smiles hesitantly in reply.

"Are you alright?" She asks the question he had rehearsed for one million times, and he can't help his plastic smiles as his lips answer the way he always had, "of course. Forgive me for worrying you. I was laughing over a private joke. Excuse me." But as he turns to leave, her fingers reach out, warm digits wrapping around his bare arm with a light steel touch. She pulls him back to face her, the slender girl who packs strength in her tiny muscles and upsets his pace.

"You don't look very happy." She murmurs with her rosebud lips, her concern a tingling wave brushing against his cold skin. (He can't help but wonder when the last time anyone ever saw through that smile was and can't help but wonder how she could when others couldn't.) They stay there a while, the pretty young girl in her simple dress attached by an arm to the handsome young man in travelling garb, the two of them immersed in each other's stares. (He realizes this girl has beautiful eyes. They are blue and bright and remind him of the days when the sky is a roll of unbroken colour that merges with the virgin snow in a thin line and the sun sparkles and shine and it's almost too bright to look and too inviting to resist.)

Jack wants to break away, because the relentless stare she wears makes him feel like she can see through him to the depths of his lonely, corrupted soul, but he doesn't want to at the same time, because it feels like a childish contest that he has to win though he doesn't know why. Eventually, she blinks, closing their rigidly held connection first and he feels like crowing immaturely, but he refrains from doing so, because he doesn't want her to think that he is insane, any more than she probably already does. But his eyes are now alight with mirth, the blues are brighter now and she notices this. There's a new tinge of satisfaction to her lips that say it all, and they both share a brief laugh. (He's not really sure why he understands the unspoken messages she sends, but the thought of it loosens something hard and cold inside of him and it makes him think that it's okay for her to be the exception even though they'd just met and he doesn't know a thing about her.)

Her laughter is dulcet. It is a tinkling bell infused with amusement, infectious and bright. His is of a lower pitch, it rings rather than tinkles and he thinks it's weird that it sounds huskier then he remembers, but it's the first real laugh he has had in a long time, so it's okay. The melody of their voices blends together in easy harmony and that too is okay, because it's not hard on the ears and it feels rather nice.

The brief hilarity fades into a comfortable silence between the two and Jack can't help but notice how much colder his arm feels after her fingers leave their perch. He pushes down the urge to rub warmth back into that spot where five slender fingers had once gripped and pays attention to the silence of his mind, marveling inwardly at the rare peace. It's a delicacy that he plans to savor as long as he can, because he knows it would not last.

"Do you want it to?" He snaps to attention when she asks, barely stopping himself from flushing when he realizes that he had unconsciously loosened his grip on his tongue. He doesn't respond to the question, but his reaction is enough of an answer. The girl grins at him, and it's a sweet, wonderful smile with a mischievous twist at the corners. She holds up her hand, palm open in welcome and waits for Jack's response patiently.

He hesitates momentarily, feeling the weight of responsibility on his back, then he remembers that he is supposed to be Simple Jack Frost today and inwardly scowls, knowing that the troublesome Prince Jackson Overland Frost had showed himself instead. So he returns the gesture, clasping his larger hand against hers, pale skin against fair, his enveloping her delicate hand as they shake firmly on some unnamed, unspoken agreement with terms that Jack knows nuts about. "My name is Elsa," she tells him, whispering the information so that he is the only one who hears it, and he doesn't know why it makes him feel special and happier for it.

"I'm Jack."

He doesn't understand why he feels a stab of pain where his heart is supposed to be, when Elsa's beautiful blue eyes widens on hearing his name, and her jaw slackens.


End file.
